The False Admiral (15 page)

WE were above the mist. With a clear view of the stars, it was now possible to determine our approximate location in the cosmos. We could see the Demenis system, and that way—up and to starboard—was where the rest of our species was. Unfortunately, this flyer couldn't take us that far.

I slowed our cruising speed to make the most of the power we had. We'd used a lot of fuel making that spectacular, if poorly planned, exit from the freighter.

Deilani sat beside me, gazing absently at the stars. Since she'd just come from an imperial academy, maybe it had been a while since she'd had a view like this. Or maybe it was all just catching up with her. She looked boneless and tired.

“By the Empress,” she murmured.

“And the Founder,” Nils added. “Should we sing the anthem?”

Deilani snorted.

The odds had not been in our favor. The three graduates were new to making daring escapes, and they didn't know what to think or how to feel.

They were too shell-shocked to celebrate. It had been a rough couple of hours, and now they had to decompress. I didn't have the heart to remind them that we still had a long trip ahead of us.

And at the end of it—well, that was something I'd have to think about.

I had things to do, like keying in the coordinates Nils had come up with. Not an easy job without data for this planet in the Avenger's computer, but we could still draw a line and have the Avenger's AI follow it.

Once that course was set, there was nothing for me to do but admire the view and hope we hadn't traded the cell block for the gallows. It seemed straightforward, but there were a lot of things that could go wrong on an inhospitable planet, and our plan to reach the colony hinged on everything aligning perfectly.

That wasn't out of the question, but for me it would be a change of pace.

The Avenger's AI would keep us from running into a spire, and there was nothing else to hit. This planet had no mountains. Perhaps the spires
were
its mountains.

Monoliths protruded all over from the veil of mist that blanketed the planet. Some towered so high that their black tips appeared to be lost in the stars.

The mist was endless, and it kept rolling underneath us, rising and falling in waves. There were occasional gaps through which
we could see the black surface. I'd seen planets with limited color schemes before, but never one quite like this.

The black ground was cracked and jagged, the mist emanating from the rifts and chasms that pocked the planet's surface.

It wasn't clear if the mist was vaguely luminescent, or if the light of the three feeble suns and the dozen or so moons was just bright enough to cause the green glow on this side of the planet.

If this system had a name, I didn't know what it was—but it was odd. Even with three suns, this planet still managed to have a dark side. That took finesse.

I was glad we'd landed on this side.

The stars did not move. Only the passing spires confirmed we were in motion.

I didn't care for it much. I preferred green grass and blue skies. Most terraformed worlds, especially Evagardian ones, were ultimately molded after Old Earth. Major cities would use light-enhancing fields to emulate the light and color temperature of Earth's sun. Common plants would be genetically engineered to survive new ecosystems, and introduced to create the illusion of evolutionary familiarity.

That would never happen with this planet. There was nothing down there but cold black rock. Crystals. Mist. You couldn't even land a ship on it safely. There was no future here.

I wanted a warm afternoon, a cool breeze, and a grassy hillside to lie on.

I'd spent a lot of time in my garden during the war. As much as I could spare. It had been a massive, decadently indulgent garden—but not such a convincing one that I could truly forget I was on a space station.

And with the war on, going planet side was no longer so effortless. In fact, during the war it had been a hassle to go anywhere. Every government on alert, every spaceport on edge, every defensive agency watchful for spies. Travel, particularly to worlds with strategic value, had become an ordeal.

It was only slightly better with the cease-fire in place. If the Empress was able to finalize the Commonwealth's surrender, and drive a satisfactory peace treaty, maybe things would go back to normal. But the peace talks were still weeks away.

Not that there was any red tape to limit travel on this planet.

I watched the distance and power readouts for a moment, then made myself look away. No sense agonizing over those. All we could do was try to be ready. I hoped the crawler was snug on the roof of the flyer. We would need it sooner than I liked.

For the moment we could rest. I just had to try to keep my mind off my withdrawal. How long had it been since we came out of our sleepers? I hadn't kept track. It would've been nice to get out of my EV suit, but I'd just have to put it on again, and we hadn't brought anything else to wear.

Even all of that tumbling about and crawling around on the surface had barely marred the shiny white material. Evagardian technology was in a league of its own. I thought about what our experience on the freighter would have been like if we'd been forced to use Commonwealth pressure suits. Or worse, tech suits. This technology might have made the difference.

I smiled and watched it all flow by.

It was a dreadful planet, but there was a dark majesty to the spires and the deep shadows and the mist. It was hypnotic.

“Are you all right, Lieutenant?” Deilani was still wearing that glassy look. She was in unfamiliar territory.

“I am perfectly fine, Admiral.”

I believed her. Or I believed that Deilani was as perfectly fine as the situation allowed. It was easy to get caught up in the triumph of our narrow escape and forget that our future was still uncertain. Were there enough power and air to get us where we were going? If so, what waited for us there?

Those questions rested uncomfortably at the back of every mind on the flyer.

The linear nature of our predicament, our lack of choices—it took some of the pressure off me. It was a shame about the trainees; this was no way to start a career in the glorious Imperial Service, clawing for survival on the surface of some worthless planet so far from civilization that nine-tenths of the galaxy would never even know it existed.

A struggle like this challenged the aesthetics of Evagardian thought, a way of thinking so deeply bred into these three that by now it was beyond changing.

Deilani had inadvertently revealed to me enough about her background that I could forgive her excessive vigilance.

Cohengard was more a ruin than a city. Not physically, of course. Mentally. Emotionally. Socially.

The wreckage that was left of the city was not a blemish for the Empress—more like a badge of honor. There had been a misguided, idealistic uprising. These things happened from time to time in the Empire. As progressive and admired as Evagard was, at the end of the day, behind all its layers and illusions of freedom and democratic process, there would always be the Empress.

People could get elected, they could bring about change, and they could achieve power. They could influence the Empire.

But the Empress could always undo their work, if she chose. Her word was still law. It was absolute.

There would always be a small segment of the population that didn't care for that.

Normally anti-Empress sentiment was harmless, ironically protected by the Empress' own laws concerning freedom of expression. But occasionally things got nasty, as they had in Cohengard. That particular movement had gained enough momentum that the Empress had to step in.

She issued a warning. The warning was seen as an ultimatum, a perfect example of the totalitarianism that these people found so objectionable. They didn't listen.

So the Empress struck them down mercilessly, killing some, punishing many, and wreaking havoc in what had been at the time a gem of her continually growing Empire.

The city was still recovering, even now. Things were more or less rebuilt, but there was no erasing the resentment. There was no poverty there—not true poverty, because that did not exist for subjects of the Empress—but Cohengard was not where you wanted to be born.

Most Evagardians took pride in their Empress' handling of the matter, but for the survivors and descendants, there was nothing but shame.

It was difficult for a native of Cohengard to gain citizenship; it was difficult for a native of Cohengard to do much of anything because of the stigma.

Deilani had fought for what little she had, and here she found
me, a guy claiming a rank that I obviously had not earned. And there was Salmagard, who had likely been offered every opportunity from birth. Salmagard had never had to fight for anything.

So under the circumstances, I could overlook Deilani's ire.

Cohengard was still the home of the main body of imperials involved in the allegedly peaceful anti-Empress movement. It was easy for Cohengardian youths to get sucked into that morass of anger and self-pity because of the disadvantages that could come of being born there. It was hard for them to get apprenticeships, and there were fewer prestigious schools because of the location, which meant fewer slots offering good prospects.

In other parts of the Empire, young people worried about how they were going to excel. They wondered how they would distinguish themselves, prove that they were capable of great things in the hopes of having some value assigned to their genes. To gain that affirmation from society that they were contributors instead of parasites. To show that they deserved everything the Empress offered, that they were not the recipients of charity.

That was a steep hill to climb, even without a handicap. For someone born in Cohengard, it was more like a mountain. A lot of people saw that mountain and chose not to try.

But Deilani hadn't taken that route. She'd entered the Service and given her life to the Empress.

She had chosen to accept her situation.

Salmagard was no different. Her situation wasn't the same as Deilani's, but her acceptance was. Though she was a low-level aristocrat, socially she was the giantess to Deilani's tadpole. Both of them were, in their own ways, bearing it gracefully, in true Evagardian fashion.

Both of them were following the current, in their own way.

But Deilani would always have to swim harder.

Salmagard hadn't joined the Service to prove something. She'd just done it for the advantage it would bring to her family. She had still been required to show her aptitudes and prove her ability to serve, but the opportunity to do so had been handed to her.

Deilani resented that, but those feelings were tempered with puzzlement and respect. Deilani couldn't understand someone of Salmagard's birth being in negotiations, and she certainly couldn't find fault with it.

Even with Cohengard weighing her down, Deilani must have reached the front of the pack, because none but the best would be assigned to the
Julian
. The flagship would be a showcase of the Empire's finest men and women.

But mortal peril had finally let her look past all that. I hoped that would hold true until we got where we were going. Then all I'd have to worry about was the fact that she was convinced I was her enemy.

My arm still hurt from throwing it around that landing strut. I kneaded it irritably.

Nils cleared his throat behind us. “Er, Admiral, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, Ensign?” I asked, still massaging my arm. I was a little high on our narrow escape. It must've shown, because Nils was giving me a funny look.

“Well, sir—it's been a while since we've eaten, and I've got the combiner working. If you'd like something,” he added.

Deilani and I exchanged a startled glance. “You brought a
combiner
?” she asked him, incredulous.

“It was only one extra trip, ma'am.” He didn't meet her eyes.

Deilani buried her face in her hands. I wasn't surprised that Nils had risked some of our precious time in the hopes of having a proper meal. It was a little appalling, though. I got up and patted him on the shoulder. “Well-done, Ensign. Full marks.”

We went back into the passenger area, where Salmagard was waiting with the combiner, which was perched on a seat and strapped in. So that was how they'd secured everything; I hadn't even looked when I'd been desperately trying to get aboard. These three were starting to grow on me.

“I only brought one bag of gel, but that should be at least one entrée apiece,” Nils was saying.

I admired the little setup: neat wiring connected the device to a power cell that had been appropriated from . . . something in this craft. I wasn't sure what. I decided not to worry about it. Nils was gently feeding the bag of protein gel into the combiner. “Er,” he said, eyes flicking between me and Deilani. The ranking officer, or the lady officer first? He settled on Deilani.

“Lieutenant,” he said, poising his hands over the controls.

He didn't believe I was a real admiral. How could he? I couldn't hold that against him. If the time came when this had to be dealt with, he'd probably side with Deilani. As he should.

I'd worry about it then.

The lieutenant had her chin on her hands. She gazed at the combiner, expressionless.

“Can it do a spicy cohen? Like, toasted? Pork?”

I blinked. That was unexpected. The dish wasn't unique to her birthplace, but it was noted there. The sort of food that betrayed her humble origins completely.

She would never have asked for it in front of other members of
the Service, never admitted to sentiment or a taste for something so crude and lowbrow. Salmagard showed no sign of surprise. Nils did, but he managed not to say anything.

I was shocked, but not in a good way; rather, it was a sinking feeling.

There had to be plenty of properly Evagardian dishes that Deilani liked—why expose herself to ask for a taste of home now?